Reflections at Dawn
by Adeimantus
Summary: This story is an effort to present Eli's bedtime thoughts/inner dialogue during the days from when she first meets Oskar, until they are seen leaving Blackeberg on the train at the end and thereafter.


**Reflections at Dawn**

_For Eli_

_Let the Right One In_, both the film and the novel, are told primarily from Oskar's perspective. The novel, especially, focuses on Oskar's inner thoughts and feelings as his love for Eli unfolds and he gradually comes to know and accept her.

Since seeing the film for the first time, I have been intrigued by Eli's complex character, and have thought it unfortunate that more of her inner life is not revealed, or if revealed, is done so only by inference from her words and actions. I thought it would be fun to explore what Eli, as portrayed in the film, may have been thinking during the days from when she first meets Oskar, until they are seen leaving Blackeberg on the train at the end.

Because Eli lives at night, each of her days can be described as two dates. The presumptive default for each day is at the end of the day, just before dawn, as she is preparing to go to sleep. The only concrete date given in the film is February 6, 1982, printed on the newspaper reporting on the death of Håkan's first victim in Vällingby, and it is from that reference that her story is told.

**February 3 – 4, 1982**

Time now to rest. In my new place--Blackeberg. Not bad; I think we will blend in okay. Not much time tonight to look around . . . will do more of that tomorrow night.

At least Håkan is not complaining. Not that he could anyway . . . his fault we had to move. I liked Växjö. The flat there was good. But after what he did—just not safe anymore.

_Ha_. _Safe_: an illusion. I'll never be safe anywhere. Especially not now, when I feel so . . . small, so weak. I wish Håkan could understand how it feels. Then maybe he would be more willing to help me. Instead of arguing all the time. I tell him and tell him: _there is no other way_. He should know I wouldn't ask him if there was.

He says I don't love him, but he's wrong. I _do_ love him, really, I think. Because he helps me. And I know in his own way, he is very devoted. But I'm not sure what he sees in me. It's wrong, somehow, the way he does it—like he's eating me with his eyes. He looks _at_ me, but not _in_ me. I think that's really the problem.

What am I going to do? He wasn't very good at this to begin with; now, it's getting worse. First Norrköping, then Växjö. _(frowns)_ I hate doing _that_ for him--but do I have a choice? What will he ask me to do next?

Wish I'd brought that extra blanket in here. Should I get up and get it? No, probably still in a box somewhere . . . too tired now. Have . . . Bunny . . .

**February 4 – 5, 1982**

Tired; must rest. So _hungry_. Another night with nothing to eat.

Håkan has me over a barrel and he knows it. Waiting for me? -outside the shower so he could see me. So he could stare at me. Asking me to turn around for him; do a little pirouette. And of course, I did it. _And_ gave in when he asked me for "one night." But he agreed to try again, and that's the important thing. That's all I care about right now. Because I'm badly out of balance and I can't go much longer with nothing. If I do, then even Håkan will be in danger. Maybe he knows that.

_(purses lips)_ I wonder what he would do with me if I was weaker than him? If I really _was_ only 12?

Hardly got out tonight like I wanted. Don't know if I like the layout of this apartment complex. Going in and out the door and everyone can see you. Of course, I can see, too. Like tonight, that funny little boy at his window. Right next door. What was he doing, standing there in his underwear?

_(grows sleepy)_

_can I remember Mama and Papa must try must try_

**February 5 – 6, 1982**

_(frowning deeply) Almost killed Håkan tonight_. Maybe I should have.

_(just sat there with that stupid face all he could say was__ förlåt)_

_I can't believe it_. Just moved here and already things have gone badly. He says no one saw him—I hope he's right! Interrupted by a _dog_ and _forgot the blood?_ How could he forget _that_? Now that kid is dead and for no good reason. If he _had_ brought it home it . . . it _would_ be for a good—

--I must have it to live. Does that make it good?

. . . _(Who are you? . . . I don't know.)_

_(rolls onto back and stares at blanket hanging over face)_ Maybe it would better if I just . . . ended it. Then no one would suffer. I could just be gone, Håkan would be free of me, wouldn't have to kill for me. He would be happier. And I wouldn't have to worry about killing any more.

But where will I go when I die? Mama believed in Heaven. Could I see her? If I said a prayer right before I did it . . . could I?

_Stupid_. If there is a heaven, there must be a hell. To think _one_ _prayer_ would make up for everything. Can't think about this. I know where I'd go.

. . . _(turns back over and closes eyes)_

_. . ._

_ (What are you doing? Nothing.)_

That boy was outside tonight. What was he doing to that tree? And what was he saying? _"What are you looking at? Are you staring at me? So scream! Squeal!"_ Pretending he was stabbing someone. Must be someone he hates a lot.

Well, I told him: warned him that we can't be friends. He should stay away from me right now. Too bad . . . he doesn't really _look_ like a bad person, even standing there with that knife. Reminds me of . . . someone--

--long time . . . ago—

**February 6 – 7, 1982**

Made the news. _Håkan_ made the news, I guess. We both read the stories.

_(trussed that poor boy up like a pig)_

_. . . (shakes head) _How he behaved tonight--acted like a scolded dog. Tried to stay away from me, holed up in his room, mostly. I knew what was on his mind. What I'd promised: had he "earned" it?

I wanted to ignore him. Tried for awhile, to be truthful. But then . . . because I do need him, especially right now. What if he just left in the middle of the day or something? Walked out, left the door open? Because he's unhappy and can't take this any more? So . . . I went in there.

That look on his face when he watched me strip. He even lit a candle. Was that his idea of . . . of _romance_? To set the mood—for what? For us, or—

No. Not for us, for _him_. It's all about _him_. Even when I'm with him, I'm alone.

. . .

Tried to close my eyes for most of it. Better just to . . . endure his hands, than see his face while he--

_(crying)_

_what would Papa think of me if he had seen me _

_if only I could remember your face Papa I love you please forgive me_

**February 7 – 8, 1982**

I don't know how to feel right now.

At last I'm full. That man was _big_--must've been drunk, too, seeing how I felt afterwards. A little woozy.

_(crosses ankles and rubs feet together)_ He was so kind . . . trying to help me. _"I'll carry you, and take you to a phone."_ I knew the person would be nice—I guess that was part of the plan, wasn't it? Because only someone like that would care to get close enough to me. Pick me up.

But what choice did I have? _I had to eat_. I couldn't have gone much longer--it had been more than a week.

It's always the same thing. The same cycle. Over and over again I must do this. The hunger takes over and I become . . . another person. And I harden my heart and do it.

. . .

I hope he didn't hurt too much

_(at least Håkan's was unconscious)_

or have any children--maybe grandchildren, at his age.

_(saw no wedding ring or any jewelry)_

I don't know who you were, but—_I'm sorry_. Sorry for

_(teeth deep in his throat his ribs cracking the blood was good, so good)_

what I did.

. . .

_. . . Håkan_ was angry with me. What did he expect? --something had to be done. And he couldn't complain about having to help afterwards. After all, he got what he wanted, and I had to go out and do it myself anyway.

That was strange--when I went out into the courtyard before I . . . before the underpass. That boy, out there again by himself. Playing with that puz—_Rubik's Cube_, he calls it? In the cold. Does he always sit out there like that? Or . . .

_Hmmm_.

I was so hungry. Told him I just wanted to be alone so he'd go away. But he wouldn't leave. Gave me that "I've lived here longer than you" line. As if he owned the place. If he had only known who I am; what I'm capable of--

_(bone and gristle popped when I snapped that guy's head around like a twig-)_

As it was, I had a hard time controlling myself.

But I guess I'm glad he didn't go away, really. I did like his puzzle. Felt stupid that I didn't know what it was, but . . . he was nice to loan it to me.

_(eyes unfocus)_ His face . . . he's so fair-skinned. Bright-eyed, too. I like that. Seems pretty smart.

_(how could I spend more time with him)_

. . .

What was that other thing he said? _Ah_ . . . telling me I "smell funny." Huh. _(smiles)_ If he were me, he'd understand. But now that I'm not so hungry, I guess I could . . . do better. Maybe I will, if I . . .

I hope he finds his Cube where I left it. It took me awhile, but I figured it out.

_(for him)_

Maybe—

--maybe something . . . new . . .

. . .

_met two kind people tonight why did one of them have to die_

**February 8 – 9, 1982**

His name is Oskar.

"Oskar." I like it.

_(turns restlessly)_ I don't want to go to sleep. I wish so much that I could stay awake . . . I hate being in this tub right now, under these blankets. Usually it makes me feel safe. But sometimes I feel--

_(buried)_

. . .

_(chuckles)_ . . . He sure was _excited_. That his Cube was solved. And what a_ smile. _He's so_ . . . open? _Natural? It's all right there to see. _Innocent_. Yes, that's it exactly. He doesn't hide anything.

Sure was fun to work on the puzzle with him. I hope I helped him figure out how to do it. Did he like how I dressed? . . . at least he couldn't say I stank.

_(traces random patterns on inside of tub with finger)_

I wonder if he'd like to see some of my puzzles? _(the egg)_ But he'd be here—and Håkan . . . how would he react? He didn't like it when I brought the Cube home in the first place. I don't think he'd want that boy—_Oskar_—he wouldn't want Oskar over here.

I'm not sure Oskar should meet Håkan, either. Yes, we'd say . . . we'd say he was my father or something like that, but he might . . . sense something's not right.

Well, I can still see Oskar outside. Sure wish I could be awake during the day.

. . .

_(sniffs)_ What _did_ the last sunrise I saw look like? Can't remember.

_(turns over)_

. . .

So sweet of him . . . to worry about my birthday. To give me his Cube. I should have made up a birthday. Then, maybe . . . then he wouldn't have thought I'm so weird. But I'd already told him I don't get cold. So—

How do I tell him . . . how can I tell him _anything_ about myself?

_(that I drink blood to live)_

If I can't even honestly tell him how old I am without him wondering . . . . Well--

_(Hugs Bunny)_

Hope he is out again tomorrow night.

**February 9 – 10, 1982**

_(taps on tub)_ "... .-- . . - -.. .-. . .- -- ..."

_(smiles delightedly)_ Funny. He doesn't know when I'm awake; thought I was going to bed like him.

So I said: "Y-O-U T-O-O."

"Morse Code" . . . what a great idea. I knew he was smart—and fun, too. I wonder if he's memorized it yet?

. . .

_(Come on. Come on.)_

. . . Playing tag in the snow. When was the last time I did that? _(smiles)_ He wasn't as fast as he thought.

_(sheepishly)_ Was tempted to fly, but . . . not a good idea. _(yet)_

. . . I haven't felt this way in . . . can't remember.

_(rolls onto stomach)_

Found out a lot more about Oskar tonight, though. That mark on his face—now I understand the thing with the knife. Who could've done that to him? I wonder how many times it's happened before. And he's never fought back, or even told anyone. Why not?

. . . He seems so _vulnerable_.

I promised him I'd help. Didn't really think about that first, but . . . how could I not protect him? So, so wish I could be awake during the day. I'd go to school with him, be there when those classmates tried something. They'd think I was "just a girl." But I'm not--and I'd teach them a thing or two.

_(sighs)_ But it would never happen. Unless they did something at night . . .

_(turns and pulls blanket up to neck)_

Does he _want_ me to help? Not sure how he feels about that. But I would anyway, if I could. I wouldn't be able to stop myself. Because he is—special. _Very _special. Unlike anyone I've met for

_(You can have this . . . if you want)_ . . . I don't know how long. _Forever_.

I liked touching his hand. Did he?

_(probably not I'm too cold)_

If he wants to talk through the wall, then that must mean that—maybe he likes me, too. _Maybe_.

But where is this going? Talked about it with Håkan tonight. After I asked him to move out of his room so I could tap, which he wasn't happy about. _(grins impishly)_ Håkan said he's concerned about me seeing Oskar. He thinks Oskar could be dangerous to us. I'm not sure—I think maybe he's just jealous. _Jealous._ Of what? That I'm playing with a kid?

_(frowns)_ But maybe he's right. Because . . . I don't want to . . . to be just _friends_ with Oskar. Well, maybe that's really it, actually. _Friendship_. Someone I can talk with, someone who'll listen to me, who I can explain things to--like, who I _am_. Isn't that what friends do?

_(you could never explain what you are to him)_

But when do friends become . . . something else? Something more? And if—if I do tell Oskar who I really am, he really _could_ be a danger, like Håkan says. Because I could never hurt him. But he might reject me, and tell someone. And then . . . I could get killed.

So maybe I should just forget about Oskar. _(no)_ It's not too late to do that. I could find ways to avoid him when I go out. I could . . . ignore his tapping

_(no you couldn't)_

and eventually he'd go away, lose interest. Then I'd be safe again.

_(and alone.) _

Well, I'd still have Håkan, I guess.

Don't know what to do.

Must rest. Getting hungry again.

**February 10 – 11, 1982**

There's no way I'm giving up on Oskar. Not after tonight. _(behind that kiosk)_

I don't care what Håkan says, even if he may be right.

_(happily)_ He _hugged_ me. Not just my _body_, like Håkan--_me_. That's a first. I would eat a thousand pieces of candy to be held like that again. I would . . . _die_ to be held like that again.

_(sighs)_ Can't stop thinking about that. Don't _want_ to stop thinking about it, or to ever forget it, as long as I live. He cares about _me!_

_(smiles)_ He's so different from anyone I've met. To say that he wouldn't care if I wasn't a girl--is it just because he _is_ a kid that he could say that, a kid at heart? Not like me--I just _look_ like a kid, I guess. Maybe I just haven't been around kids very much for a long, long time. They can be very accepting, I suppose.

. . . Wish I_ could _just be a kid. _Ha_. Funny. Never seen a mummy in diapers.

_(turns onto side and crosses arms over chest)_

_(I can . . . try one.)_

So kind of him to share his candy with me. When I saw that downcast look in his eyes, I just _had_ to do it. He was so looking forward to me enjoying it with him--I couldn't disappoint him. Actually thought for a moment that I might be able to handle it. That maybe _just once_, God or whoever is in charge would give me a little break, let me do something simple--something normal, like everyone else.

But I guess now, I guess that it was good that I couldn't really eat it. Didn't want him to watch me throw up, but what else could I do? And then he—

_(Oskar . . . do you like me? . . . Yeah—a lot.)_

I'm so . . . _happy_.

But—

_(no no don't remember that)_

I don't want to but it's true

_(not true not true I would never do that)_

You know you thought of it. When his arms were around you and his neck was right there you smelled his blood you know you did, you did

_(But I controlled it. I denied it, for once. A small victory for _me_, dammit. The hell with everything else, I don't care about the rest of this miserable life but I'll never, EVER do that to him, I _swear_ it.)_

. . .

_(squeezes Bunny and cries)_

_Dear God . . . give me some dignity Please oh please_

**February 11, 1982**

_(eyes move rapidly beneath closed lids)_

_. . ._

_Back in the Castle, in my crawlspace_

--_in my crawlspace where there is no light but I can still see_

_(where He broke me)_

_I can't stand, I can't sit, I'm always flat in here_

_So hungry, so hungry but food makes me sick_

_He opens the wooden door at the end of the slot and drags me out by the neck and I'm strong but I can't open that door it was little but thick and I can't resist Him, he is even stronger_

_He drags me into the room, the Dining Room he calls it, he sounds so friendly when he talks_

_. . . bigger with a hole in the ceiling a little light comes in, I can stand at last_

_Shoved in, I fall down the door slams, must be iron sounds clangy_

_I look around where am I_

_The door opens again someone else in the cell with me_

_A boy, he falls down too but gets up_

_A boy with blond hair, I know him, he's--_

_(my brother)_

_Yes. Jacob, my brother._

_He is crying but smiles, so happy to see me _

_(he thought I was dead? Yes he must've)_

_And he rushes to me as the door slams again_

_Jacob stay away, STAY AWAY _

_He doesn't listen, doesn't understand he just reaches for me and hugs me_

_And I . . . I—_

_(change)_

wake up Wake Up **WAKE UP**--

_. . ._

_. . ._

_. . . He comes back in while they take Jacob out_

_(what was left)_

_. . . I am crying, crying _

_I have just done the unspeakable, That Which Cannot Be Said, that I can never tell--_

_. . . and His cold hand is on my neck, so freezing_

_white face, red robe_

_He makes me look at him, at those cold blue _

_(gleeful) eyes_

_I hate Him, I HATE HIM, want to destroy Him but I can't, He is too strong and I'm little_

_And as he puts me back in my crawlspace He says,_

_Behold, I make all things new_

. . .

_(gasps and sits straight up, looks wildly around bathroom)_

. . .

Not a dream_. _

_A memory. _

_(turns over and vomits into drain)_

_(coughs) I forget so much like Papa's face Why can't I forget that too_

_(crying)_

Please God let me kill myself

**February 11 - 12, 1982**

Where is Håkan? What's happened?

_(rolls onto other side)_

. . .

Oskar.

_Oskar_ . . . I _need_ you; why weren't you there?

_(rolls onto back and feels chest in the darkness)_

Where was the place she told me about? The spot right beneath my rib . . .

Yes. _There_. I just push in this blade and it's over.

. . . but I can't.

_(sobs)_

**February 12 - 13, 1982**

I wish I could've stayed longer. That the night had never ended. That the sun would never have risen.

_(sighs)_ I don't think I can take too many more nights like this. Too many ups and downs. Don't know whether to be happy or sad. I guess it's right to feel both. That's the honest truth.

Håkan--are you really gone? I never could've imagined that it would turn out like this. When I came back just before dawn and you weren't here, it really hit me: that-- that . . .

_(drained him let him fall seven stories of course he's gone)_

. . . you're gone.

Our apartment seems so _empty_.

_I'm so sorry_. Sorry about everything. You loved me in your own way, I know you did. You tried to put my needs ahead of yours. It was hard for you, I understand that. I guess now I can understand how scared you must've been to go out and do those things to help keep me alive. It wasn't what you wanted to do—you never really had the stomach for it. But you tried anyway, because you knew I needed help, and you knew you were all I had. So if you can still hear me . . . I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you did.

Even at the very end, when you were so . . . _hurt_, you still loved me. I didn't really want to take you, but maybe you saw better than me that we had no other options. That somehow, we had reached . . . the end of the line for us. And even though I hated _your_ demands, and found themdegrading,

_(hands on me sometimes wanted to rip your arms off)_

I think I realize that it wasn't the real you who wanted to do those things to me. That, underneath all of that, there was a

_(little boy?)_

--man who, if he could have somehow found a way to change himself, would have. Would have been someone better. More _whole_, more . . . _human_. But I guess I've been alive long enough to understand that sometimes, we _can't_ change. No matter how hard we try, we're trapped in ourselves and we can't find a way out. Like being in a maze. Maybe if the right person had come along--someone who could've pulled you out of yourself, stood you up, slapped your face, made you see the sunshine, the beauty of the world all around you, gladdened your heart—you could have been the best Håkan that ever could've been. _A perfect Håkan_.

_But I wasn't that person._

_(could never have been that person) _And maybe I never should've taken your hand and led you away from that park bench. And . . . if doing that led to your death, then—_I'm sorry_. Please, Håkan . . . please . . . forgive me if that's true.

. . .

_(begins to nod off)_

. . . _bulleri bulleri bock_ . . .

. . .

_. . . it'll be you and me . . . really? . . . yeah . . ._

_. . . good . . ._

_. . . I hold him at last . . . Oskar . . . your hand is mine . . ._

_(stops breathing and falls asleep)_

_. . ._

_. . ._

_I am so cold, so cold out in the snow_

_Wandering in this whiteness_

_Where are you, where are you_

_A little house I see, blurry in the storm_

_(my home yes Mama and Papa should be there)_

_I fly to it, press my hand on the door _

_Oskar are you here? Please let me in_

_You are the Right One for me I know it in my heart_

_I could be so alive if only I'm with you,_

_But now I am so cold, I'm dead_

_I am the Awful Me_

_The Door opens, it Opens and_

_There You stand, you see me, you smile_

_No clothes have I, nor you _

_But I don't care for now the Door is Opened _

_and this is the Created Me that you see,_

_there is nothing else and you are beautiful_

_It's warm, it's so warm here inside_

_You enfold me I'm covered in your warmth_

_You are the Sun to me and I, I am your Moon_

_So happy, so--Do not let my dream end_

_My heart will break, I will break_

_Pressed to you, my beloved, my Oskar_

_And I am free in your arms, there is no danger, no monster, no Sin _

_there is only me, Elias_

_And I can enjoy you forever because you love me and find me beautiful_

**February 13 - 14, 1982**

I am evil. I accept it.

To think . . . to think that he could ever really know and like me. I'm so . . . _utterly stupid_.

_(What did you want us to do? . . . All you need to do is prick your finger)_

It was all an illusion—just a dream. Håkan was right: I cannot escape myself. There's no point in trying anymore. Better to just embrace it, let it--consume me. I can do that; it'd be easy. The easiest thing. I won't have to think anymore.

_(taps absentmindedly on inside of tub)_

Think about them, about . . . their suffering. Yes, that would be fair, wouldn't it? After all, who ever worried about _me_? About _my_ suffering? _No one_.

_(maybe Håkan a little)_

No one cares if I live or die. I must crawl around like an animal—hide in the dark—never be seen. I'd be loathed if I were known. Hunted down and destroyed.

_(sits up, flings blankets out of tub, shouts out loud to empty apartment:)_

"So why not just _admit_ it? I _enjoy_ drinking their blood! Like that woman tonight: don't care about them--don't care!"

_(flops down onto side)_

It's the only thing that brings me pleasure. And even though that's not . . . happiness, at least it's _something_. So I won't suffer for them anymore. Now _they_ will suffer for _me_.

_(but Oskar loves you)_

_(Eli . . . want to go steady?)_

. . . _(petulantly)_ No he doesn't. Never _could_, either. _(unconsciously touches featureless groin)_ He'll _never_ understand me and the more he knows about me, the worse it'll be. Maybe _likes_, _maybe_, but then why did he do that—that _thing_ with his hand? I wanted to have fun with him down there, listen to music, play, but then he--didn't he realize what would _happen_? That I would become my true self, that I would—would--

_(attack him, bite him, tear off his head, revel in his blood in my mouth like a fountain, on my face, on my hands)_

_(like Jacob)_

--no . . . NO--

_(he didn't understand, he's just a stupid kid he was playing a game)_

A game? A GAME? I almost KILLED HIM--

_(he didn't mean it, he didn't know)_

_(cries out)_

But _now—_

. . . now he _DOES_ know.

_(sobs bitterly)_

_He knows what I do_. I drank his blood _right before his eyes!_ Think he will be running back to share his Cube anytime soon?

_(couldn't help it, couldn't stop, went down on all fours on the ground)_

He looked so scared, thought I was playing--

_(forced myself to look away from his bloody hand, look at that little puddle, lapped it up like a dog, Yes)_

And then you ran. Ran away--

_(. . . and saved his life.)_

. . .

_(Stops crying. Opens eyes wide.)_

Yes.

_I saved his life_.

. . .

_(face changes from wonderment to sadness) _But now . . . _I'll never see him again._

. . .

_(moans)_ Oh God, oh God, why me, _why me_--

_(You still saved him, he is innocent, you did a good thing)_

_(long, shuddering sigh) _

. . .

_(closes eyes and curls into a ball)_

. . .

My Oskar. I'll have to be satisfied just knowing that you are alive and still in the world. Maybe . . . you'll make someone else happy someday.

_(kneads Bunny)_

But in my heart, you will always be mine.

_(pulls blankets back over face and weeps)_

**February 14 - 15, 1982**

_(singing to self while turning off water in shower)_

. . . Låt mig få viska hur mycket jag tycker om dig än

_(Let me whisper how much I think about you)_

Låt mig förklara för dig att jag har dig kär . . .

_(Let me explain to you that I love thee)_ . . .

_(dries off and gets into pajamas)_

. . . Ta mig i famnen och säg att du har mig kär

_(Take me in your arms and tell me you love me)_

Allt det vi drömde, så kär, jag gömde

_(All that we dreamed, dear, I hid)_

Allt är förlåtet igen

_(All is forgiven again)_ . . . .

_(sits down cross-legged on floor in front of the uncovered window, looking out at the fading stars)_

I can't believe it. Oskar came back tonight.

_(looks around room)_ This place: so empty, so . . . there's not much here. I was afraid to let him in here, to open my door.

Funny . . . I didn't think about it before. I just figured we would play with my cards and puzzles; have fun. I never considered what he might think of it--

_(and of Me, in this place)_

. . . until he was actually here. Then, while he was looking around, _I_ suddenly realized how everything looked, and I felt like I needed to . . . to hide behind my door, to keep him out. Because . . . because . . .

_(I needed to know, to be sure)_

. . . of what happened in the basement.

_(Are you a vampire?_

_I live off blood . . . Yes.)_

But he _didn't_ run away.

_(From all the ugliness. From _you_.)_

_(wonderingly)_ He didn't.

. . . It's—incredible_._ But why?

_(Because he needs you just as much as you need him. He's lonely, just like you.)_

Yes. I guess I could be special to him, too.

_(but maybe you're just all he could find)_

. . . _(sighs)_ . . .

. . .

What a silly question he asked: _am I 'dead.' (grins)_ What did he think?

. . .

_(rests chin in hand while thoughtfully gazing out window)_ It was so wonderful. Just to be _with_ him again. We didn't _do_ anything, but

_(You see that egg over there? . . . Put your finger on it.)_

even to have him in the room with me, made me feel . . . renewed. Like I'd been given a second chance. I felt . . . _hopeful_.

_(sees a star twinkle)_

Oskar—what are you to me? How could I ever _tell_ you?

_A rope thrown to the bottom of a well, I grasp it_

_The key to release me from my prison_

_The sun rising to destroy the evil in me_

_A beautiful person to pull me up from dark dark water_

_(tears stream down face) _ I— I . . . _you have become all those things to me_.

. . .

_(shifts uneasily and unfolds legs)_ . . . But he got angry.

_(You stole this . . . from the people you killed, right? . . . I want to go home now.)_

_(his eyes looked right into me scared me what did he see)_

_(sniffs, bows head, and wipes nose with shirt)_ He was right to get upset. What I told him wasn't the whole truth. Yes, some people _have_ given me money. But I have taken money and things from people I've killed.

I . . . lied to him. _(never lie isn't that what Mama said)_ Is that why he got mad? Or was it because he finally realized that I--

_(Love. Judgment.)_

If I love him, I cannot lie to him.

Why did I lie to him? To hide the truth of who I am.

_(but I thought I wanted him to know who I am)_

Yes, but not the _bad_, so _soon!_ Like the basement—it came too early, before he was ready, before he could know

_(the other side of me, the good side)_

the part of me that's still . . . human.

. . .

_(wipes tears off face)_ Oskar . . . will you still be my future?

If I go back to you and apologize, would you . . . still care for me? If I try to be the best that I can be

_(the perfect Elias)_

and show you all truths about me, _love you with everything I have_, could you possibly . . . _love_ _me?_

I have to try.

And if he rejects me, then I will return to this window. _And wait a little longer_.

**February 16, 1982, 3:40 a.m.**

_Quietly sits down beside dozing Oskar on the floor of the apartment_

_Waits until his breathing becomes deep and regular_

_Brushes the hair away from his forehead, then _

_Kisses him there, caresses his cheek_

_. . ._

_Lifts a corner of the vermillion blanket _

_Burrows into the crook of Oskar's arm_

_Warm, so warm_

_Rests head on his chest_

_Listens to the lullaby of his beating heart_

**February 16 - 17, 1982**

_(lies curled up in dark, narrow space between large, empty crates in abandoned storage shed outside Uppsala, sobbing uncontrollably)_

I kissed him for the first time. Then . . . had to leave him.

_(not fair, Not Fair, NOT FAIR.)_

. . .

_(hears sleet hissing irregularly across roof)_

_(stops crying and wipes eyes)_ If he hadn't shouted-- if I hadn't woken up—_I'd be dead_. He saved my life. That's never happened before.

_(who ever worried about _me_? About _my_ suffering? _No one_.)_

_(listens to wind booming against corrugated walls and rattling a rusting gutter)_

I owe him my life . . . but this is how it ends. _Out in the cold again_.

_(it was the only way, you couldn't stay)_

Yes--too dangerous. Killed right there in my apartment. Everyone heard. Blood everywhere. _No options._

. . .

_(frowns)_ I don't want to keep living like this. Running away; running away. And now, _now_ . . . leaving the only one who meant anything to me. _Can't_.

_(It'll be you and me.)_

Just when I thought that it might be possible . . . that we could be together--that man came. Ruined _everything_. Why? _Why?_

_(If it hadn't been him it would've been someone else. It was inevitable.__ How long did you think you could go on hiding that side of yourself from him?__)_

No matter what I do, I must be alone. Hunted and feared, like a wild animal. There's no escaping it--

_(you are an animal, after all)_

. . . yes. Yes, it's true, I _am_ an animal, a monster.

He slumped to the floor next to my tub. I battened upon him like a leech. Tearing, sucking, feasting. I felt his pulse ebbing with my tongue—felt the blood filling my stomach--

I killed.

_. . . _and _Oskar_ . . _. just outside the door_—

_(hearing everything, hearing me Slaughter)_

He was so scared, trembling, stiff as a board--

_(until you held him)_

. . . and I, I—

_(Perverted Monster)_

. . . had the _gall_ to despoil his beautiful face with that disgusting kiss—?

_(my mouth a crimson mask even got some on him)_

_(closes eyes and sobs)_ So . . . _sick_. I _am_ disgusting. How could he possibly love _that?_ I _deserve_ to die, be wiped off the face of the earth. _Banished to Hell where I belong_.

. . .

_(Oskar. I've got to go away.)_

. . .

_(Uncurls and crawls over barren, earthen floor to retrieve broken fencepost from pile of dead leaves blown into the corner)_

_(harshly)_ End it now, _you_. Don't think--just _do_ it.

_(Presses cold, jagged end against chest, indenting skin)_

--his lips were soft--

_(presses harder, breaking through)_

--so warm, just as I dreamed--

_(feels wound gape open as the spike twists and is thrust further in)_

_--(gasps in pain)_ Oskar—_I love you so much_ but I hate—

_(Eli don't be stupid, he DIDN'T deny you, didn't pull away don't you UNDERSTAND)_

_(cries out as wetness spills down stomach)_

But he _knows_ now what I _AM—_

_(AND LOVES YOU ANYWAY!!)_

. . .

_Stops._

. . . **He loves me anyway**.

_(pulls out stake, presses hands to wound)_

_. . . I must be gone and live, or stay and die._

_(angrily) No—NO!_

Go back. _Must go back_.

**February 17 - 18, 1982**

".--. ..- ... ..."

".--. ..- ... ..."

_Dark lashes close over dark eyes_

_Smiles, curls up and falls asleep-- _

_. . . to dream of her Loved One _

_to the gentle rocking of the train_

The End

**Epilogue**

**February 18 - 19, 1982**

_An empty summer cottage on the shore of frozen Lake __Vänern, Karlstad. _

_They had gotten off the train at nightfall, and taken a taxi out into the province. Eli knew where to go. In __Värmland, they had stopped in__ front of an occupied home two doors down from the unoccupied rental property. After the taxi had left, they had cut around through the snow to the back of the vacant structure, and Eli had broken the lock on the back door. _

_Oskar was very tired. After he had eaten the sandwich and juice that they had picked up at a kiosk by the train station, they had found some blankets in a closet and climbed into bed. At last they were alone, safely away from all that had occurred the evening before in Blackeberg, and were able to talk._

Oskar turned off the bedside lamp and fluffed the covers up over his arms so that only his head was exposed. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, grateful simply to be lying down. He was bone-weary, almost exhausted. Gradually, his hands and feet started to warm beneath the blankets. His eyes began to adjust to the faint moonlight that filtered in through the blinds, and he turned his head to look at Eli, a small lump under the covers an arm's length away.

"I'm so _tired_," he announced. "This day has been so long, and it seems . . . almost unreal." He smiled, then added, " And it's not as though I _did_ anything—just rode on the train with you in the trunk."

He strained to see her in the darkened room. "I know you know this, Eli, but I just want to tell you: I'm so _glad_ that you came back for me. They would've killed me in the pool if you hadn't."

Eli's face was now much more defined; he was able to make out her smile. He heard a soft rustle, and then a small, cool hand slid toward him beneath the covers and found its way into his.

"Oskar . . . I _couldn't_ stay away. I've never felt about anyone, the way I feel about you." Her hand squeezed his gently, and she shifted closer as she continued.

"It's . . . it's so hard for me to explain how I feel when I'm with you. I haven't been able to keep my mind off you since the night you loaned me your Cube." Her smile broadened and she added sheepishly, "You—well, you pretty much turned my life upside down." Then her face hardened, grew more serious. "And when I realized what was happening there at that gym, and the trouble you were in, I just acted. I didn't think."

Oskar nodded, smiled and squeezed back, but his happiness was marred by the disturbing image of the three blood-stained bodies lying at the edge of the pool. He wanted to extend his arm and draw Eli to him, but he hesitated, not really sure why. Perhaps it was because in some way, she still frightened him. Although he now felt closer to Eli than ever before, there remained something about her that was unfamiliar and perhaps unknowable to him. So he satisfied himself with her hand, which he now clasped in both of his.

"Where did you go? How'd you know where I was?"

"I went away, like I said. In the taxi, to a town up north. But I really didn't have a good plan for what I was doing. It just felt _wrong_, and I couldn't stop thinking of you. I guess I felt that after what'd happened with that man from the neighborhood coming into my apartment and everything, that there really wasn't anything else I could do." Her expression became discouraged, and she turned her head away, sighed, and closed her eyes; then added, "That after you saw what I did, you'd—well, I figured that no one . . . ."

". . . could still like you?" Oskar added.

"Yes."

"Eli." He gently tugged her hand, and she looked at him again before he continued. "Don't say that. I don't know why he came in. He scared me and I hid in the kitchen. Under the table, hoping he'd go away. And then he opened your door and I was behind him, with my knife. He started to open your window and—I knew that would hurt you, so I yelled. That was all I could think to do. And then . . . you woke up."

"And I killed him. With you right there. I'm . . . _sorry_. That it happened that way. It wasn't what I wanted."

He touched her face. "But you didn't have any choice. He would've killed _you_."

"I know. But it was so horrible. Like that night in the basement, only a thousand times worse. Because I don't want to be that way when I'm around you. It's not who I want to be." She paused and looked down, then asked: "Was it wrong . . . to kiss you?"

He hesitated for a moment before replying. "Well I didn't expect it, but—I guess I didn't mind. I knew you were sad. And I was sad_ and_ scared. But it _did_ make me feel better." He wanted to say more, knew he _should_ say more—but the words escaped him.

He shifted, loosened his hold on her hand, and rolled onto his back to stare at the dark ceiling. He hesitated, unsure of how to express his next thought without upsetting her, and his voice trembled almost imperceptibly as he went on.

"But Eli—I'm-- . . . I'm sort of scared right now. I've never done anything like this before. On the train today I kept thinking about my mom and dad. Especially my mom . . . I'm sure she's worried sick about me. And while I know—I mean, I feel it in my heart, that I've made the right decision to be with you, I still . . . ." His words drifted off into silence.

There was an uncomfortable pause. The sound of the wind whistling outside the little house increased, and Oskar watched the shadows from the waving branches of a tree move back and forth on the wall opposite the window. Then Eli answered, her voice measured and even.

"Oskar. It's never too late for you to go back to your family, if you want. If you decide that's the best thing for you, then we'll go back. If that'll make you happy. Because I couldn't bear the thought of you being with me if you _weren't_ happy. I would never want that for you."

Oskar rolled back onto his side to face her. She was looking at him intently, and he felt strongly that he needed to reassure her while further expressing his conflicting emotions. "I don't want to--I _don't_. All I want now is to be with you. It's just that—this is all so _new_, so . . . different. I've never been to Karlstad before—heck, I've only been away from home a few times, actually. Back and forth to my dad's, and to see my aunt in Stockholm. And I'm worried. That policeman I saw at the station—I thought maybe he was watching us."

Eli reached out and stroked his cheek; brushed the straight blond hair back from his ear. "Oskar—I'd be surprised if you _weren't_ worried. I understand what sort of a change this is for you. I know what it's like to be away from your family, really I do. And like I said, if you want to go home, we'll do that; I won't stop you." She looked down before continuing. "It's just that—you've come to mean so _much_ to me. And I don't know what I'd--"

"Stop," Oskar interrupted, and he moved closer under the heavy blankets so they were only a few inches apart; so close that he could feel her breath on his face. He did not want her to complete the thought; did not want her to express something that would be painful and unnecessary. With great delicacy he touched her pale face, then ran his fingers through the dark hair by her temple. He lowered his voice to just above a whisper.

"Eli . . . you make me _so happy_. You're the most . . . _amazing_ person I've ever known. Before you came along, I felt worthless and angry almost all of the time." The painful memories came back, and not trusting himself, he shifted his eyes away from hers to look beyond her to the dancing patterns of black and gray on the wall. "I guess maybe if you had been around to see what Conny and those boys did to me, you'd understand." His face darkened and his voice quivered with barely restrained emotion. "Calling me 'piggy.' Making me squeal like a _pig_. Sticking my face in the toilet. Hitting me all the time—like that night when I gave you the Morse Code."

"I realize now that I was becoming a different person; someone I didn't like very much. Yeah, it felt good to have that knife—it made me feel like I could . . . could control things, instead of the other way around. But on the inside that person I was becoming was scaring me more and more with bad thoughts about hurting people, about making them suffer like me. I knew it wasn't really _me_, or at least, who I really . . . _wanted_, or . . . knew I _should_ be, but I felt as if I couldn't help it. I couldn't tell anyone, even my mom, about what was happening. And anyways, I don't think that she really wanted to deal with what was going on . . . or maybe she just didn't know _how_ to deal with it. Like maybe . . . she just didn't want me to grow up, or something. And it's hard for me to say this about her, but I felt like I was on my own. I felt as though no one cared."

He sniffed and his eyes shifted back to her still, attentive face. "But _you_—you _did_ care. Cared about me more than anyone else has _ever_ cared." His voice dropped to a whisper as he experienced again the feeling in his heart when he'd looked into her eyes at the pool. "And that's why I know _now_ . . . _that I love you_."

Her face was transformed by a tragic mixture of sadness and joy. Her lower lip began to tremble insecurely before she concealed it with her upper. She blinked rapidly, and then closed her eyes. Beneath the blankets, her hand closed tightly over his. Tears spilled out as she sniffed and lowered her head toward the cover.

Oskar froze. He stared at the black, silky hair on the top of her head, unsure of what to do. Then he did the only thing he could think of: he placed his finger under her chin, and gently lifted her face to his.

Eli opened her eyes, blinked again, then looked directly at him. In a wavering voice, she whispered, "_I love you too_. I've been wanting to tell you that for . . . _forever_, but I was afraid if I did, it'd be . . . too much. That you'd--" She stopped, unable to finish her sentence.

Oskar recalled Eli's kiss before she'd told him that she had to go away. He remembered the emotions that had resonated between them, and her terrible, passionate longing; the desperate, heartfelt desire to be loved and accepted.

A powerful, mature bolt of intentionality suddenly hit him._ My turn_, he thought, _to let you know now just how much _I_ care, how much _I_ feel for _you_—that _you_, Eli, _**are mine**_._ And then he kissed her. Kissed her over and over. On her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, and on her closed eyes; kissed her until all her tears were gone. And when their kissing had ceased, Eli rested her head on his arm, utterly tranquil and at peace.

. . .

Later, as they held each other and listened to the wind, he asked, "What is it really like?"

Eli rolled over to face him. "Really like? You mean, to—"

"To . . . you know. Be you."

She looked at him a long time. "It's . . . how do I—well, what do you really want to know?"

"Everything."

She swallowed, then replied, with a look of troubled bewilderment: "_Everything_. Are you sure? I'm not sure I know where to begin."

"Yes, I'm sure. Mmmm . . . how about giving me the good and the bad? Yeah . . . why don't you tell me the bad first."

Eli hesitated a moment, then sighed. "Okay. Well, you understand that I'm always going to be 12. I'll never grow up, like you."

In the brief moment before she continued, Oskar thought, _She never gets older—I knew that, right? But—_and his thought was interrupted by an image of himself, at his father's age, holding her hand. He frowned.

"I can never see the sun. When I was little, I used to love to play outside in the summer, in the sun. But now, that would kill me. I'm afraid of the sun now. I cannot bear sunlight, even for a few seconds.

"So, I have to live the dark. I haven't seen the sun in over 200 years. I live in the dark, while most people are asleep. So I can't—I don't know, can never know, anyone who only comes out in the daytime. The day, when most people see each other, spend time together. That's all . . . gone."

"So is that why . . . why you've been so lonely?"

"Yes. Well, that's a big part of it. But not really the main reason.

"So when I sleep . . . it's not like how you sleep. With me, it's more like a light bulb is turned off. I'm on, then I'm off. You can stay up late if you want, cut your sleep short. I can't do that. I've tried it, and it's almost impossible for me to stay awake during the day. So, once I'm asleep, I sleep like a log—I sleep harder than you. And that's when I'm most vulnerable."

Oskar wanted to talk about himself getting older, but feared that it might break the flow; that it might stop Eli from talking. So instead he asked, "Do you dream?"

"Sometimes I do, but not often. Usually not. I've dreamed of you, though," she said, touching his face. "My most beautiful dream was about you, actually." She smiled and turned her face away. He blushed, and looked at her quizzically with a small, hopeful smile. Then Eli added mysteriously, "and maybe that dream is now." Without looking at him, she squeezed his hand.

Eli continued to talk as she stared at the ceiling. "Then sometimes, I sleep for a really long time. Days, weeks--sometimes more than a month. And when I wake up, I'm different. Like I've been cut down a notch. I forget things, and I—I feel weak. That's when it's hardest for me. When I really need--"

Oskar interrupted. "Wow. Like the Dutch guy . . . in that old story. Rip Van Winkle. That must really be hard."

"Yes, it is," she replied. "But you know by now, Oskar, that none of this is really the worst part of being me."

Oskar, who did not want to affirm this statement, could only nod in understanding.

"And that's really the hardest part. Because it's not what I want to do; not what I want to be. But it's there, all the time, sort of . . . in the background. And it makes me look at people differently. It could even make me look at _you_ differently." She frowned.

"It's sort of like how you might feel if you'd gone awhile with nothing to eat. Or maybe, nothing to drink. When you get hungry, it comes in waves. And you can distract yourself for awhile, and ignore it. But eventually, it becomes everything. It's all you can think about. Well, that's how it is for me, except, there's only one thing I can eat that will make me healthy."

"And so, since I don't want to do that one thing, I try to put it off. Put it off as long as I can. So a lot of the time, I'm walking around feeling pretty hungry. Which makes it hard on me. But I can't put it off too long, or else I—well, I sort of . . . shrivel up. And also, it drives me crazy, but not in a funny way. I mean, _really_ crazy. You wouldn't want to be around me then. I'm . . . dangerous."

He felt a chill run down his spine, and quietly pulled his hand away from her. Then there was a lull in their conversation. After awhile, he spoke her name. She turned her head to look at him.

"Eli. Are you—I mean, were you, or—I'm sorry." _Don't know how to say this_, he thought. "Are you . . . a girl now?"

Eli turned toward him. Her eyes seemed fearfully large in her little face. She clasped her hands together and pulled the covers up to her chin. She hesitated, then replied: "No, I'm not. Not really. I told you I'm not a girl."

"I don't understand. But you're not a boy? That thing you showed me, back in my apartment. When you told me to be you, for a little while. What . . . ." He sighed in frustration, unable to express the question.

A moment passed; then Eli touched his cheek and caught his gaze. An expression of tentative resolve came over her. Hesitantly, and without breaking eye contact, she pulled the covers down, exposing her thin, naked, bluish-white torso to the moonlight. Oskar's face registered surprise, but after a moment he rose and sat halfway up as Eli rolled partially onto her back.

With apprehension he looked down—past the prepubescent chest; past the flat expanse of stomach; past the narrow hips; and at last, to her pubis. Then, back to her dark, dark eyes. Nervously, he reached out to touch. Eli drew back, her face full of trepidation, but then she relaxed; and, ever so slightly, rotated one thigh back at the hip. It was a tiny gesture of trust that Oskar did not miss; and in the silence, he extended his hand, and his fingers gently traversed the scarred, ruined surface.

He stopped and respectfully, pulled the covers back up over her. He looked at her again, and seeing her expression, his heart moved inside him. All he could think was:

_Who could do this? To such a beautiful person? To Eli, whom I love?_

Eli turned her head away and stared at the wall. Oskar saw the fine muscles in her throat tighten. "You see now," she said, her voice trembling. "I was once . . . _like you_."

Oskar could not stop the sudden cloudburst of emotion that touching her had provoked. Her admission was a needle that pierced a fragile membrane of control over a tangle of intense feelings he could only experience, never articulate: horror; pity; unending, bottomless suffering. And, overpowering them all, _rage_ at deliberate cruelty, inflicted upon innocent nature.

_white lilies, trampled in the mud . . . _

_a butterfly with its wings plucked off . . ._

_a gunshot fawn, foundering with paralyzed hindlegs . . ._

_a terrified child, tied to a table . . ._

His chin trembled and he began to cry. In a grief-stricken whisper, choked and broken, he said, "I'm so sorry. So . . . _very sorry_." He burst into tears, unable to control the flood which now ran down his cheeks.

Seeing and understanding his reaction, Eli, too, began to cry. She enfolded Oskar into her arms, and gently pulled him down to her. He lay on his side with his head on her chest, holding her tightly while his body was wracked with sobs.

"Oskar, don't, don't. It's all right. It's-- . . . _please_ don't cry." But he was unable to stop, as was she.

As they wept together Eli stroked his hair and whispered, "I was so afraid, so afraid . . . that if you knew that about me, you could never accept me, never love--"

Still crying himself, Oskar rose up and cut her off, shaking his head fiercely. "_No_--_no_. Eli, don't—don't you _dare_ say that. _Ever_. It doesn't matter; _doesn't matter_. I don't _care_ about that. Not after what we've been through. You saved my life. You _are_ my life, don't you understand? You are, you—I _can't_ _explain_ what you mean to me. I love _you_--_Eli_--_whatever_ you are. Please, _please_ don't say that."

The room fell silent, the quiet broken only by low murmurs as they comforted one another. Then, these too ceased. Outside, snow began to fall.

And in the hidden warmth beneath the covers, Oskar once again placed his hand upon Eli, resting it there. And by this act of confirmation Eli understood, for the first time, that even this part of herself was capable of being loved.

. . .

Oskar awoke. It was still dark. Momentarily disoriented, he looked about, trying to remember where he was. Then he remembered, and reached across the bed for her; but she was not there. He sat up and then saw her, standing at the far side of the room. She had pulled up the blinds and was looking out at the lake, a dark, slender figure before a panorama of beautiful, frozen stillness. He marveled at how small and fragile she looked.

Without getting up he asked, "Eli. We said you'd tell me about the bad _and_ the good."

She came over and sat beside him on the bed. She studied him for a moment, then spoke.

"Oskar. Do you know why I love you?"

In his heart Oskar was uncertain about what it was in him that she _did_ see, and was afraid of saying the wrong thing, so all he could muster was, "I'm not sure. Is it because . . . I love you?"

She did not immediately respond. Instead, she lay down facing him, and tucked an arm under her head.

"I could see it the moment we first met. That there was something special about you. _Here_." She pointed a finger, touched the center of his chest.

"Something beautiful, inside you. You were kind, for kindness' sake. Generous. Open and honest in your feelings. And thoughtful, more so than some people I've known who were four times your age. I knew right away that you were . . . _very sweet_," she said with a bright smile. "I realize that given what you've been going through you may have trouble accepting this, but I think . . . no, I _know_—that you are the most beautiful person I've ever met, or probably _will_ ever meet."

Oskar tried to conceal a frown. In his mind's eye, he saw himself fantasizing about thrusting his knife into Conny. Remembered his admission to Eli that he would kill for revenge. Recalled how he had thoughtlessly refused to invite Eli into his apartment. Considered how he had stood beside his mother's bed, turned on the light, and hoped that she would not wake up. He felt the urge to interrupt, to protest what she was saying, but knew that she was expressing deep feelings about him, and so remained respectfully silent.

"And if you had not been those things, Oskar, then I do not think you could ever have loved me. Because only someone with a heart like yours could love something like me." She paused and briefly looked down.

"So, Oskar, I want you to understand: the good and the bad in being me go hand in hand. You can't separate them. You cannot have one without the other. And if I were to tell you about the so-called 'good things' by themselves, it would not be a truthful picture of who I am. You might be misled into believing that being like me would be—" she paused, searching for the right word. ". . . desirable. And if you did come to believe that, and suffered as a result, I could never forgive myself. Because then I'd be responsible for destroying that part of you that I fell in love with—the best part of you. Do you understand?"

Oskar was unable to immediately respond. Without understanding why, he fetched about for something to say, to disagree with the one-sided picture of himself that she had painted. Finally he said, "But you said that I was like you. A killer. Was that . . . a lie?"

Eli sighed. "You tell _me_. Maybe if things had continued with those boys at school, you would've been. But do you really feel that way now? And more importantly, do you think you could kill someone who'd never done any harm to you? A complete stranger? _Because that's what being me is all about_."

Oskar shivered. He tried to imagine himself walking up to someone he didn't know and killing them. He couldn't. Yet, he still felt that Eli was somehow being unfair. That her love for him was, in a way, denying him a choice, would . . . push them apart.

"No, but—how is this going to work? _I love you_. I want to _be_ with you."

"I want to be with you, too," she whispered, stroking his shoulder. "But only if you truly understand what that's like. And only if you understand that I'll never ask or expect you to do anything like _that_ for me."

"Okay," he replied, "I understand." He ran his fingers through her hair, then cupped her jaw. "And I'm ready for you to tell me everything."

Eli appeared to be debating something inside her head. Then she slid over, gently pushed him onto his back, and climbed on top of him. She lowered her face to his, her black hair a curtain which closed out the moonlight around him.

"Are you sure?" she whispered.

"Yes." Her lovely face had become his world.

Eli took Oskar's head into her hands. And kissed him.

. . .

Oskar closed his eyes and succumbed to the sensation of Eli's warm mouth upon his. And then . . . _his mind was taken away_. Removed from himself to become Eli's.

Images flash through his mind. Memories, and fragments of memories; and not just images, but all of the physical sensations that accompany memories. He _is_ Eli; he can see what she saw, hear what she heard, feel what she felt.

_January 1, 1980. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1971. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1962. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1953. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1944. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1935. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1926. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1917. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1908. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1899. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1890. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1881. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1872. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1863. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1854. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1845. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1836. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1827. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1818. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1809. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1800. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1791. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_January 1, 1782. I wake up. It's dark. I look the same._

_. . ._

_Blackness; then, I wake up in a bedroom with walls of stone. I get out of the bed; I want to go home. And then I see my candlelit reflection in a gilded mirror. It's me, Elias. But why am I so pale? _

_(little white ghost in the flickering light) _

_I look . . . dead. _

_I move closer to the mirror. Maybe if I look closer, I will be okay._

_But . . . something is wrong with my mouth. It doesn't feel right. It's too big. What is in there that feels--_

_I'm in front of the mirror. With growing horror, I slowly open my mouth to see . . . to see . . ._

_No--can't be. _

_(gasps) _

_Where are my old teeth? I open my mouth wider to look for them, but they aren't there. Nothing is normal. How did this happen? I want them back. _

_(and my tongue it's too long, just like the teeth)_

_I try to smile and scare myself _

_(I'm ghastly) _

_. . . no one will ever want to see me. _

_As I am looking in the mirror I notice something's wrong with my eyes. They don't look right either. I look more closely. Maybe it's just the light. But—same color but _

_Oh heavenly Father they aren't round anymore, they're . . . they're . . . _

_(kitty cat eyes) _

_I blink, then blink again to make them go away. But they don't change._

_Suddenly I feel sick. I turn away, bend over and vomit, but nothing comes out._

_I'm crouching and retching in the corner. On the floor when--_

_(dry heaves my throat hurts my eyes water) _

_--I see my hand. Not my hand? No, I can _feel_ it, so it _must _be my hand. _

_What has happened to it? With fascinated horror, I hold it up to see it better. _

_It looks like a claw. My fingers are all . . . stretched out. They're too long and I don't—where are my fingernails? _

_I turn my hand (claw) over to see the other side and realize the ends of my fingers are now sharp points. Hard, like bird's feet . . . they click when they bump together._

_(huh huh huh heart is racing)_

_. . . No, NO, Not me Not me NOT ME, NOT MY BODY--_

_Where am I, WHAT am I_

_(I am a Monster) _

_oh Mama please help me, please_

_. . . I spin around, looking everywhere, the walls, the ceiling _

_Looking for a way to get away from myself—_

_no, to _find_ myself and get out of this body, it's not my body_

_--but there is nowhere to go so I jump into the bed to hide under the covers_

_Maybe if I hide here I'll be normal again _

_And when I jump I notice that my feet are different too_

_They scratched the floor, oh dear God they are claws too-- _

_Oh Mama please, PLEASE save me, change me back_

_This must be a dream, tell me it is a dream_

_I hide under the covers and cry, _

_No one can see me, no one can look at me ever_

_My legs are pressed together under here but wait, wait--there's nothing between them—what_

_(REMEMBERS)_

_Heart pounding in chest, I throw the covers off, pull down these pants, must look, must KNOW—_

_--Yes-- _

_--it really happened, IT WASN'T JUST A DREAM_

_I scream_

_I Scream_

_I SCREAM_

_. . ._

_I hear a click, a thud and a creaking sound. __A voice from somewhere says _You may come in

_. . . I stop screaming, look up and see that a door has been opened. But no one is there._

_I get out of the bed again, shaking all over--_

_My eyes are wet but I can't wipe them, I'll tear my eyes out_

_I wobble to the doorway on my clickety toes, I'm so scared; who's there? Is it Him? Please let it not be Him . . ._

_I look around the corner; this room is also lit by candles. I hear someone moaning? _

_(is it me no someone else)_

_I see someone lying on a bed. A woman. _

_(what are you doing here, why are your arms up? oh you are chained)_

_I smell something_

_(something good what is that?)_

_It's you._

_You see me, you're terrified of me_

_(me? why? it's just me, Elias a little boy)_

_You're so scared of me, but you cannot scream poor thing because you've got something tied in your mouth_

_I freeze. I can't move. _

_I should help you, untie you and set you free, then you won't be afraid anymore, but—_

_(I'm afraid to get closer to you)_

_You're bleeding._

_(_that's_ what I smell)_

_I take a step toward you. Your eyes are so big, you're shaking your head at me. Why are you so scared?_

_I take another step._

_(like smelling bread in the oven, drawn to it, yes)_

_But not bread, it's--_

_(blood?)_

_I move closer. I can see now, you're bleeding at your wrists where the shackles are _

_(must be too tight?) _

_You're so skinny and dirty--_

_(smell dirty too on top, but underneath, you're--)_

_. . . I see your brown hair, your brown eyes. You're trying to draw away from me-- _

_(why? I want to help) _

_. . . but you can't move, you're partially off the bed but you can't get any further._

_Now I'm right beside the bed. I try to smile but when I do you get the gag part-way off and you begin to scream (ow that hurts my ears)—_

_(why are you screaming? oh yes I'm scary when I smile now)_

_You jerk, you jerk your whole body up off the bed, and the bed slides a bit—_

_(your blood smells so good, So Good, must have it, MUST HAVE IT)_

_No, no what am I doing, Why am I jumping on you?—_

_(I bark like a dog?)_

_I am—I, my other person's mouth is opening, WHY AM I BITING—_

_Ah. _

_Ahh. _

_I drink. _

_Oh please no, I'm drinking you how can this be_

_No . . . no . . ._

_Stop screaming I put my hand on your mouth--Shhh, shhh . . ._

_Your thrashing slows . . ._

_(weak like a baby to me)_

_Yes, dear woman be still, stop moving, give yourself to me, it won't hurt much longer I promise_

_. . ._

_What have I just done? _

_I sit up and look around. I see my shadow on the wall and do not recognize it. I look at my blood-drenched hands._

_Who am I now?_

_(not Elias anymore)_

_She didn't matter. She's nothing. Wasn't real. _

_I take. That is all that matters._

_. . ._

_The image of the dead woman's corpse shifts, then dissolves, to be replaced by . . ._

_. . ._

_Nighttime on a mountainside._

_I am in deep snow under a pine tree. Looking out between the green, snow-laden boughs, watching and waiting. _

_I look up the mountain. There are more pines nearby, I am standing_

_(no, crouched)_

_in a string of them, and next to them is an open path, a--_

_(skiing that used to be fun)_

_. . . yes. A ski trail. _

_I'm waiting for a skier._

_It is dark and cold, but I don't feel cold. I'm wearing no shoes or gloves._

_I see someone coming down the mountain. A man; he is moving fast. The moonlight makes it almost as bright as day to me, and even at this distance my clarity of vision is amazing. I see his big furry gray hat and coat, black-gloved hands holding old-fashioned poles, leather belt, heavy pants coated with snow_

_(can't see his face too well he has goggles)_

_He's in full control and is very good. I look behind him to see if he's alone or if there is anyone else. He approaches me but he cannot see me hidden in the pines._

_There is no one else. He passes me with a crisp swooshing sound from his skis. I hear this sound perfectly. I had heard it even before he came into view around the curve 300 meters above me._

_I burst from the treeline and pursue._

_I run in bounds across the snow. The movement is effortless; I do not tire. In the few seconds that it took for me to check the trail above, he has gained 200 meters, flashing down the mountain._

_I'm light, so light and my feet don't break the crust—_

_--I can feel all the muscles in my legs rhythmically pumping, but they do not grow weary and I am moving amazingly fast_

_the trail turns to the left and he begins to turn too . . ._

_. . . I am gaining, I cut across his arc, smooth snow or rough makes no difference to me_

_100 meters . . . 75 . . . 50 . . . 35 . . . 20 . . ._

_He does not know I am here, he cannot hear me as I make no sound_

* * *

_and I am upon him._

_He is completely surprised to feel me on his back. He falters and falls. I seize him and we fall in a tangle-- _

_--snow flying everywhere, stars and snow spinning as we somersault together off the path and into deeper snow . . ._

_I cling tightly to him, I do not come loose in the tumble; my right arm over his shoulder and my left around his chest._

_We end up on our sides in the snow, he tries to reach for me with his free arm the other is pinned-- _

_. . . he grabs my hair and begins to pull my head_

_I tighten my arm around his chest and squeeze brutally._

_I feel his ribs break._

_He makes a loud grunting noise as the air is forced from his lungs. He cannot scream or make any sound but his goggles are hanging down around his nose and I can see him grimacing, he is trying to see me out of the corner of his terrified eyes—_

_I squeeze again, harder. I feel his rib cage collapse under his heavy jacket. Blood spews from his mouth and splatters in an irregular pattern on the snow._

_He is suddenly limp; __his movements no longer purposeful. His grip on my hair loosens. __ I shift, sit up, and tear open his coat at the neck. Hold his head down with my right hand-claw and gain access with my left--_

_. . . his eyes roll helplessly, he knows there's someone on him but can't understand what's happening--_

_I sink my teeth into his jugular. Bite deeply. His body flexes, goes rigid. His legs twitch spasmodically in the snow, skis thumping back and forth--_

_. . . the twitching slows, grows irregular._

_He flows into me. Down my throat to the center of my being. He is big and strong and there is a lot of him—liquid fire. I swallow, swallow and swallow again. He is a font of life, filling me to the brim._

_Finally there is no more. He is still. I notice for the first time that he is very young, not much older than 18. His hat came off in the fall and he has thick, black hair like mine._

_As I have been taught, I seize his head and jerk it smartly around with a snapping sound._

_His unseeing, beautiful brown eyes look up at me. He looks ridiculous with a surprised expression and the goggles pulled down over his nose; the blood spattered on his lips._

_I think my hands normal. Gently lift his head and take off his goggles. Kiss the blood from his face. Close his eyes. You look better now, whoever you are. At peace._

_(you are beautiful with your dark lashes on your pale face I'm sorry you had to die)_

_A faint noise coming from the treeline. I look up and scan. I see movement between the trees. Gray shapes shift behind the branches. _

_Wolves. First one emerges, then a second, their pointed ears and broad shoulders dusted with snow. They stare soundlessly at me with amber eyes, their mouths half-open, tongues hanging between their lower fangs. They, too, are beautiful. _

_I am like them. _

_I stand and race toward them. They are not prepared for this, and they freeze, hunker down, and flatten their ears. Then when I am only a short distance away, they break and run back into the trees._

_. . ._

_The image of a little girl running through the forest with a pack of wolves gets smaller, then fades away to black. Then Oskar is . . ._

_. . . climbing a spiral staircase made of stone. _

_My bare feet make no sound on the cold, wedge-shaped steps as I ascend to the top-most turret of the Castle, but the chains behind my back clink softly as they sway back and forth between my tightly manacled hands._

_Behind me I hear the steady tread of the one who brought me here. The one who made me what I now am. He who, like me, needs neither torch nor candle to negotiate this treacherously narrow and rough-hewn set of stairs. _

_I am utterly petrified, and dare not look back at him. For although I know that I am now immortal, yet I am filled with such an overmastering, irrational dread of Him that I believe even to look upon His face would slay me from fear. And so I keep my eyes ahead, and try to keep from shaking._

_As we reach the top the draft of cold air grows stronger. The wind moans around the portal above, and a thin layer of snow coats the last few steps, lying in small drifts where they meet the circular wall of the tower. I reach the small landing, step through an archway coated with frost, and am outside._

_It is snowing. The enormous sky is utterly black and fills me with awe and terror, as I have not seen it for two years. The wind is strong and whistles around the ancient, crumbling battlements. Below us lie the lights of the village, muted and blurry through the falling snow._

_His hand seizes the chain and I stop. I hear another, lighter rattle and then my hands are forced into the small of my back. There is a click and then the manacles fall away to the hard stone at my feet. The snow begins to stick to my hair and my face. I dare not look up._

_Then His hands are upon my shoulders. I tremble uncontrollably as they converge on my neck, and I fear they will tighten like a vise, as they have many times before. But instead, they caress. The long, white fingers stroke my neck below my ears before running through my now-long hair. Then they descend to the collar of the white linen dress I have been made to wear._

_There is a jerk, followed by the tearing of fabric and popping of buttons as his hands force the material down and off my body in a single motion. The ruined garment hangs at my waist and flaps restlessly about my legs._

_A gust of icy wind rocks me on my feet, and then his hands are once again upon me. I watch the black nails as they soundlessly creep down my chest, my stomach, until they reach my waist and slide under the material twisted around me. I begin to sob like a baby._

_He turns me around; takes my head into his hands. Forces me to look up into his face: the faded blue eyes; the thin, red lips. Smiling, he gives me a freezing kiss. I feel his ice-cold lips upon mine and I close my crying eyes, trying to disappear._

_Then, suddenly, I am crushed against him by one powerful arm and we are no longer on the tower. We are—in flight. I am frightened beyond measure and writhe uncontrollably, trying to break free of his grasp and return to the castle before it disappears below me. But his hold on me only tightens all the more, and I am powerless against his strength. _

_I look down, horrified, as the castle and the town rapidly disappear below us into the snow. Then there is nothing but the darkness, snow, and the cold, driving wind against my face._

_Soon the snow ceases and, curious, I open my eyes. We have broken free above a final layer of clouds. Above us is a mantle of stars and a waxing crescent moon. It is beautiful yet terrifying, and now I cling tightly to Him, my arms wound about his waist. We are incredibly high._

_With both hands he wrenches me away from him, holding me out by my arms. He looks at me and speaks. His voice is like gravel, ground against glass._

"_You are free, little angel. Fly, fly away." And lets go._

_. . ._

Oskar's eyes flew open as he experienced the sensation of a free fall, and his body jerked hard in the bed. His legs spasmed and the covers were yanked askew. He grunted, and his union with Eli was broken. She rolled off and to his side.

Eli gathered Oskar up into her arms. She held his trembling body closely as he breathed rapidly and looked wildly about the room in complete panic.

Eli cradled Oskar's head in one arm and held him tightly with her other. Oskar clung to her with an arm around her neck as he stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. She rocked him gently, saying "shhh, shhh," over and over. "It's all right, Oskar. It's over."

The seconds ticked by. Oskar slowly relaxed; his racing heartbeat diminished. When his grip on her loosened, Eli gently lowered him back onto the bed. She touched his face, brushed the hair back from his damp brow, and his eyes regained their focus and looked at her. But his horrified expression remained.

"Eli, Eli . . . no more, please," he pleaded in a voice that was thick with emotion. "I—I don't want to see any more of that. It's . . . it's too scary for me. I'm sorry—I shouldn't have asked for that like I did."

"_I'm_ sorry, Oskar," Eli replied with a note of anguish. "I'm so stupid. I should've known better. Please . . . forgive me."

Oskar looked into her eyes with immense sadness, then stroked her cheek. He shook his head and began to cry. He blinked the tears out of his eyes as he fumbled for words. "I . . . you—" He could not express the depth of emotion that he felt for her, and his words trailed off unfinished. He thought, _She must be ruined. How can there be anything left inside her?_ Finally he simply exclaimed, "Oh, _Eli_—", and then it was his turn to pull her to him. She yielded to his gentle pressure, and lowered her head to his shoulder. Oskar felt her warm breath, heard her sniffle, and then after a moment, felt the cool dampness of her tears on his neck. He gently stroked her hair as they lay together.

A long period of silence was broken when a whirl of snow battened against the window with a whispering, icy crispness. Eli finally spoke, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "Oskar, all of those things happened in the past. A long, long time ago. They're gone now—they're just memories. Like those boys at your school: they can't hurt _you_ any more. The vampire who made me is dead now. He can't hurt _me_ any more, either."

"I know, Eli," Oskar replied as he hugged her tightly. "But it hurts me to think that all of that . . . _pain_ . . . is locked up inside you. How could you ever—how will you ever get _past_ all of that?"

Eli lifted her head up and looked at him before responding. _"With you." _

She continued. "I can't live in the past any more, Oskar. Falling in love with you made me realize that. To do that—it's like dying a little bit every day. And I just can't go on like that. I want to make my future with _you_."

Oskar wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and managed a smile. "I want to be with you, too, Eli. _No matter what_."

Eli got up and climbed out of the bed, pulling him by the hand as she did so. They stood face to face: she in a washed out nightshirt, he in his underwear. Then Eli motioned to him and said, "put your right arm around me, here. And hold my right hand with your left, like this." Oskar awkwardly complied.

"You'll see," she said with a smile, "that not everything I've learned has been bad. Now, watch my feet, and follow me. One, two three; one-two-three; one-two-three . . . ."

To Eli's humming of "On the Beautiful Blue Danube," the room began to spin around Oskar; slowly at first, then faster as he stopped concentrating on his feet and became used to the step. As their dancing became automatic Eli quickened the pace, and soon they were grinning broadly at each other as they twirled around the room.

Then, suddenly, Eli dropped his hand, took hold of him at his waist with both of hers, and they were . . . _flying_, in spinning, dizzying circles. Oskar's face registered surprise and fear, but Eli gleefully shouted, _"Hang on!"_ And they both began to laugh uncontrollably as they spun, spun, and spun some more before finally collapsing onto the bed in a giggling jumble.

Once they got themselves under control, Oskar squeezed Eli's hand and grinned as a new idea entered his head.

"Eli . . . can we _talk_ when we kiss like that? I have something I want to say to you."

"I don't know. I've never done that before," Eli replied with a smile.

"_But let's try."_


End file.
